it beckons (yet you fight)
by michellejjones
Summary: "You offend the view with your intense thoughts, my lady. It beckons for your attention, yet you fight to ignore it." Turning, she finds a man standing before her. "General!" She laughs, and cups his cheek. His green eyes are bright against his pale skin. "I have missed you." And with that, she kisses him squarely on the lips. [Snowbarry week 16. Day 2: Supernatural. Oneshot.]


**Welcome to day two of Snowbarry week 2016! The theme for today is "supernatural". Please note that this fic is an AU, set in a farytale-esque land. Also, because they are Elves, I decided I would put their names through an Elf Name Generator. Here are the results, so y'all don't get confused:**

 _ **Francisco Ramon: Aeglosson.  
Caitlin Snow: Ingemel.  
Harrison Wells: Tatharon.  
Joseph West: Haeredon.  
Iris West: Gervil.  
Wallace West: Laerornor.  
Bartholomew Allen: Faerdhinen.  
Kendra Saunders/Hawkgirk: Shayera.  
Jesse Quick: Helchel.  
Edward Thawne: Miresgalon.  
Oliver Queen: Leston.  
Felicity Smoak: Lymil.  
Ronald Raymond: Sainor.**_

 **I did not proofread, so I hope y'all don't go crazy!**

 **Title:** **it beckons (yet you fight).**

 **Summary:** **"You offend the view with your intense thoughts, my lady. It beckons for your attention, yet you fight to ignore it." Turning, she finds a man standing before her.** **"General!" She** **laughs breathily, and cups his cheek, running one hand through his loose brown hair. His green eyes are bright against his pale skin. "I have missed you."** **And with that, she kisses him squarely on the lips, the wind sweeping her insecurities away.**

 **Disclaimer:** **I do not own _The Flash,_ or any other characters mentioned in this fic.**

* * *

 **it beckons (yet you fight).**

 **by clarabella wandering.**

* * *

 _"She's new, she's from the Gelid Woods."_

 _"They say that the Elves there are as icy as their environment, their hearts as evil as the air around them."_

 _"Well, I'll tell you right now that she sure looks it."_

 _"She's a terrible fright, really."_

 _"Like a killer frost."_

 _"Steer clear of her."_

 _"My friend, that goes without saying."_

She takes in these comments, these whispers, with regal posture and steady steps. The crown that sits on her head is a heavy reminder that she must never let them see they're getting to her. Ironically, she must be as cold and gelid as her environment entails. So much for surprising these warm-blooded kinfolk.

"What do you think?" Asks her brother, Aeglosson, who's long dark hair is loose like hers. This is yet another difference between her folk -of the Gelid Woods- and the Elves they are currently visiting -of the Forest of Enticement. These persons where their hair mostly up or half up, in intricate braids and crows of flowers, but her people where their hair down most of the time (a little extra warmth from the cold, if you will).

She shrugs, her face stoic, but when she speaks to him in a whisper, it is with amusement. "I think their pride is too big for their britches."

"You, my sister, are not the only one." He's smiling, a not-at-all uncommon characteristic for him. Around them, the nobles of the court stumble over their words. An Elf of the Gelid Woods, _smiling?_ Unheard of.

"But they are necessary for our continued survival. We make music, medicine, literature, and invent things here and there. We do not make food, and do not have the right plants to make clothes." Ingemel -for that is her name- daintily pats her snow-white hair, and then tucks her hands back into the large sleeves of her dress; Her hands are cold.

Aeglosson nods, "yes, I know." His hands are also tucked into his sleeves, and he smiles at a passing lady, who smiles back. Her friend elbows her when she notices.

 _"He's one of them, Aegnath!"_

 _"... I know ..."_

Aeglosson's smile slides off his face, and Ingemel falters. "Brother-"

Up ahead, the wide archway with two heavy curtains hanging from it meets them with solemnity. People are lined up on each side; Men on the right, woman on the left. Their faces and bodies are facing straight ahead, towards each other, eyes unmoving. Their hair is braided behind them, revealing their pointed ears and fair features. They are green eyes, and blue eyed, silver eyed, gold eyed, brown eyed. Some have dark hair and others light, but they all look living, all look solemn and real.

They are not living. They are not real.

They are statues.

The Forest of Enticement's past leaders stand in this hall, the Hall of Elders. The statues were made by her people, of the Gelid Woods, and she and Aeglosson look at them with pride. They pass Adasser, the Lonely, who, in her youth (one hundred and twenty nine), fell in love with a mortal man. He, a great king, rode into battle with Adasser's brother, then-King of the Forest of Enticement.

They both died in that battle.

And Adasser, heartbroken, took the throne with a heavy heart, knowing deep inside that she would never love again. She had one son: Lavandir.

Ingemel stops and stares at the statue of Adasser. She was twenty-nine years younger than Adasser when the queen lost her lover and brother. Adasser's was the first statue she ever made.

"My dear, do not dwell on her story for too long. Queen Adasser's tale has a way of making even the happiest and strongest of souls weep."

She and Aeglosson spin around to find their king, Harrison, standing behind them, his hands crossed behind his back and a rueful smile on his face; He, personally, knew Adasser, all of three thousand-and-something years ago, now. They incline their heads to Harrison. "Father," Aeglosson says. "Where did you go?"

"Here and there, but I'm back now." Tatharon shrugs, and leans forward subtly. They do the same. In a low voice, he says, "inside, we must tread carefully. These are our brothers and sisters, but that doesn't mean they are just like us. Much has changed since Calaerphen's reign. This is new territory. Be friendly," Tatharon looks at Ingemel pointedly. And then, slowly he moves his gaze to Aeglosson: "But not _too_ friendly."

"I _am_ friendly." Ingemel objects quietly.

"I'm _not_ too friendly!" Aeglosson hisses.

Tatharon laughs, a breathy sound that warms his daughter's heart. "Come along. Our time has come." He takes Ingemel by her right arm, linking his through it, and Aeglosson does the same.

Together, they walk down the Hall of Elders, and into the meeting room.

* * *

Haeredon, Calaerphen's son, has a warm smile and, from what Ingemel can see, a _very_ good judge of character. He sits at the head of the table, the chair next to his empty (his wife disappeared many years ago; No one knows to where). His daughter, the beautiful, kind, and intelligent Gervil, sits next to his left, and next to her is her brother, Laerornor. Others, his advisors, sit around the table. Four seats, not including the queen's throne, are empty when they enter.

"Tatharon." Haeredon says, standing. They greet each other with a kiss, Gervil and Laerornor following their father's example. Tatharon, Ingemel, and Aeglosson take their seats along with the royal three of the Forest of Enticement, but one seat is still empty. It is a seat that Ingemel is very familiar with, for she and her family know its owner quite well.

"Where is Faerdhinen?" She asks, her voice smooth and without emotion.

Haeredon sighs heavily, "Away, I'm afraid, young Ingemel. There is trouble along our southern borders; The Werewolves grow restless, and I sent Faerdhinen with some of our men to check on things. But do not worry; He will return tonight in time for the ball."

Satisfied, Ingemel nods and sits back, silent save for the few comments and questions she asks throughout the meeting. Aeglosson and Laerornor have long ago stopped paying attention, instead playing a silent game of who-can-keep-their-eyes-open-the-longest. Aeglosson wins almost every time; Laerornor doesn't really have the patience for such games (or for these types of meetings, come to think of it).

When the meeting is over, Gervil takes Ingemel by the arm, the latter flinching slightly upon the contact. "Still cold to contact, are we?" Gervil asks Ingemel with amusement.

"Still quick to touch, I see." Ingemel returns, with a pale smile.

Gervil laughs, and hauls her out of the meeting room to her living quarters, Laerornor and Aeglosson behind them.

* * *

That evening, Aeglosson asks a lady by the name of Shayera to dance with him, and Laerornor asks adamantly of Ingemel and Aeglosson's youngest sister, Helchel. "She stayed behind, I am afraid," Ingemel says apologetically. "Though she does send an affectionate hello." Ingemel smiles at Laerornor with a twinkle in her gaze. Laerornor blushes, and Ingemel finds herself laughing at the younger's shyness.

The hours pass, and Ingemel watches Princess Gervil dance with her husband, a general (but not _the_ general), Miresgalon. She had been commissioned to sing and play a few pieces with her brother, and they had done so; Anything to appease the folk of this warm land. Ingemel's voice wasn't the best, but she could play the piano, violin, and cello very well. Aeglosson's voice was better; He played the harp and lyre. Together, however, their voices were passable; At least, in the Gelid Woods they were. Here, they left the lords and ladies in awe, whispers spilling through the ballroom like a tsunami.

 _"They sing very well."_

 _"Yes, like nothing I've ever heard. I suppose it's true, then; Those of the Gelid Wood do have talent in the arts."_

 _"And the sciences."_

 _"Yes, but they still need us for their military tactics, food, and clothes."  
_

 _"I suppose we are superior."_

The comments are enough to drive her outside, carefully excusing herself from Gervil and Miresgalon's company and to the outside. There, Leston of the Stars (for no one really knows from where he came; Most say he fell from the heavens), a wizard (young for their kind), and a very dear friend of hers, is standing facing the river, his robes billowing about him. At first, Ingemel thinks him alone, and moves to approach him when she catches wind of his mutterings.

"My love, you have a life to live. I will not allow you to live like Adasser. I will not allow you to throw away your years." Leston bends down, and when he moves, he allows Ingemel just enough chance to spot Lymil, a beautiful, intelligent Elf, one of Gervil and Faerdhinen's closest friends.

She is and has been in love with Leston for many years. And he, undoubtedly, with her. But Leston's job is the most dangerous in all the realms. Ingemel understands his unwillingness to embark in a relationship with the Elf. She understands it very well.

Ingemel walks briskly and quietly upwards, to an empty balcony, and thinks that this time two years ago, her husband was still alive. He is the reason she wears a crown today. He is the reason Laerornor and Helchel call her "sister", the reason Tatharon calls her "daughter". Sainor was her husband; She loved him. And he died. Shot by an assassin, he tumbled off their balcony the day after their wedding and lay there, half submerged in the then-frozen river, skin blue from the cold.

Sainor, Crown Prince of the Gelid Woods, had died. And his widowed wife, Princess Ingemel, was from then on treated as not just the widow of the king's son, but as the king's daughter.

"You offend the view with your intense thoughts, my lady. It beckons for your attention, yet you fight to ignore it." Turning, Ingemel finds a man who brings a rare, bright smile to her face, one that he is happy to match.

"General!" She cries, hands coming to cup her mouth. "Faerdhinen!" She steps towards him, and he is quick to meet her, to sweep up her hands and kiss them both with an exaggerated bow.

"Princess Ingemel. It is always a pleasure to personally witness your beauty, wisdom, and strength." Faerdhinen pulls her a little close to him. "I have missed you dearly."

Ingemel laughs breathily, and cups his cheek, running one hand through his loose brown hair. His green eyes are bright against his pale skin. "I have missed you just as much, if not more."

Faerdhinen kisses her forehead, "prove it." He whispers.

Ingemel quirks a brow, feeling more free than she has all year. "I think I shall."

And with that, she kisses him squarely on the lips, the wind sweeping her insecurities away.

* * *

She tells him of the comments she has overheard, of the meeting, of the funny tales he has missed and the adventure she took to Minyardland with Helchel (Tatharon had been outraged when he found they'd disappeared, thought they'd been kidnapped).

He, in turn, tells her of the Werewolves and how there really was no problem, what was actually happening was some Giants had gotten it in their heads that Werewolves were uncivilised and so the Werewolves, in want to avoid war, had quietly pushed into the Elves' land. The Elves had played diplomats (not Faerdhinen's strongsuit, mind you), and everything had been resolved. He also tells her more of Leston and Lymil, and Gervil and Miresgalon, of everything she has missed.

Faerdhinen rests his head on her shoulder in annoyance upon hearing of his people's prejudice, announcing his absolute mortification. "It's okay, Faerdhinen. You are here now. I can manage."

"Ingemel," he says suddenly, collapsing against her. She laughs; He is acting like a mortal man, not like a four thousand year old Elf. It's refreshing, how his eternal youth isn't just in his looks but also in his personality. "Princess, I'm in love with you."

Ingemel tilts her head, glad for the smoothness of her nature to guide her through this revelation. Still, her hands come to halt very suddenly, and she can see that he too is nervous. "I am in love with you as well." Ingemel murmurs after a beat, taking her hand and placing it on his heart. He does the same; The tradition is the same in both their kingdoms. To profess your love for each other is to touch the soul, the heart.

Faerdhinen smiles. How this Elf is the general of the kingdom's entire army, she will never know; But he is, and a very good one at that. The best in history. Leston likes to say that Faerdhinen is the best in all the realms. "Then marry me."

The words are simple and short, but Ingemel, though no longer all-too-young, feels her brain screech to a halt, unthinking. The world around her is spinning, because never in all her years did she believe Faerdhinen would ask her to marry him. She knew she was in love with him, and deep inside that he, her, but never did she think he would ask for her hand. It is not, however, an unwelcome development.

"Faerdhinen," Ingemel says slowly, "please tell me you are not joking."

He laughs again. She likes that he laughs so much. "No, my darling, I am not joking. If you would have me, I would like to marry you."

"Well, then," the blond adjusts her crown, smooths down her dress, and rubs her blue lips before grabbing her lover's hands and pressing them to her heart. "I would like the same."

Faerdhinen takes her into his arms and spins her around the balcony before kissing her. It's a very mortal gesture, very full of adrenaline and not-at-all regal or Elf-like, but Ingemel doesn't mind.

She doesn't mind one bit.

* * *

 _"Faerdhinen and the princess Ingemel? Really?"_

 _"I bet she bewitched him."_

"Do not say such things." Princess Gervil hisses to the ladies chittering in the corner, and her husband smiles fondly at her as the couple at the head of the room announces their engagement. "It is unseemly."

Laerornor smirks and then glares at two men to his right, also talking ill of the moment. "I am the prince. I am her brother." He murmurs quietly, voice even, and they fall silent with a start.

Ingemel and Faerdhinen step back, letting King Tatharon and King Haerdon take center. They talk of what happiness this news gives them, and they mean it. After that, the people still whisper and gossip, but Ingemel doesn't mind as much; Not when she has Faerdhinen to worry over and kiss.

The Forest of Enticement and Gelid Woods never have trade problems again.

 **fin.**


End file.
